This tall thin elegant man. His sad face hardened with knotted muscles across his cheeks. Standing glaring at Slouch. And reaching to grasp up the great thick red volume of Debrett and banging it closed between his hands. With a sudden gigantic heave sending the noble tome crashing across the room against the shelves. The oar above clattering down. Slouch raising his arms to shield his face from the descending trophies. And one last, an ancient cricket bat, hanging askew by a shredded crimson thread, fell at the slam of the door.
Beefy with a pump of elbow into Balthazar's ribs. Brief grins and eyebrow twitching on the faces of the wide eyed little boys. Slouch slowly stands. Smiles fade. And Beefy, his mouth open drawing in his breath and raising a hand slowly to point at Mr. Slouch as he leans forward on arms pressed astride on the desk.
"Sir. Your flies are open."
Slouch with a shiver straightening
Slouch with a shiver straightening up. Quick nervous fingers tugging and pulling and buttoning. A red rage steaming at his temples. Beefy clutching Balthazar by the hand. Retreating backward towards the door. As the words come hissing out of Slouch's teeth.
"You two get out of here before I kill you."
Balthazar turned the crystal handled knob and pulled open the heavy door. Beefy glancing behind and pushing Balthazar forward. The door slamming. And they ran pounding down the wax gleaming hall.
It is
The random
Accumulation
Of triumphs
Which is
So nice.
8
Across Berkshire, Hampshire and Surrey, the headmaster returned from Swindon. His little grey roadster pulling to a halt at three this Thursday afternoon. This early December. Rumours whispered. And two mysterious days went gloomily by.
On a damp Saturday they marched down across the pebbled path to the sports pavilion. Carrying their towels, striped stockings and boots. The crash and crunch of muddy bodies. Ear pulling, shin kicking. A wet rugby ball sliding from hands. And Beefy plunging his tough little figure past monster Masterdon for the winning goal.
To the strange postponement of beatings Beefy said they were finding out if my trustees are leaving a packet to the school. And then Sunday after prayers in chapel as cocoa was being given, numbers were called to report at Mr. Slouch's room. Twenty two, fourteen and sixty four. And as Beefy tugged on trousers over his pyjamas he said to Balthazar, they have found out that my trustees are not leaving them a fig.
Masterdon came grinning near slurping cocoa down his cheeks.
"Slouch nearly captained England Beefy. Scored one hundred and twenty runs. Your botty will surely be poorly."
"Shut up Masterdon or I will punch you in the eye.'
"Just try it. Anytime."
Balthazar watched as Beefy walked out the aisle between the beds. And disappeared into the hall and up the stairs. And down to doom. The minutes went by. And then the first screams.
"Hey Balthazar, that's your friend Beefy."
"It's not. That's Duffer. Beefy will never cry out."
Above, at the end of each sound of heavy running footsteps. A loud scream. Six times. And six more times. And then the footsteps running and followed by silence.
"That's Beefy, Masterdon."
And the dormitory figures stood on their beds waiting. Beefy strode back in neither sad nor glad. Followed by whimpering Duffer and Jones. Who ducked and cowered between the beds as they were made run the gauntlet of knots and wet tips of snapping towels. When lights out to snuggle up to one's knees in darkness. Ahead a cold grey Monday. Of Latin cases, isosceles triangles, and the triumph of England at Waterloo.
At the evil sad time of four o'clock Balthazar and Beefy were summoned to headmaster's office. The oar and cricket bat back up on the wall. Debrett safely on the shelf, a wide crack down its spine.
"All right boys. Stand there. Would you kindly take a seat over there Mr. Crunch and you there, please Mr. Slouch. Now I'm not going to waste time explaining the enormity of the offences and why they merit the measures they do. We know that without rules chaps would be waltzing naked in Piccadilly. But before proceeding I would like to ask you number sixty four to recite the canons of this school. Indeed if you know them."
"Be respectful at all times to masters. Do not tease younger playfellows. Be kind and attentive to elderly people. Do no mean or sneaking thing. Be always open, cordial, honest, manly. Be at all times clean of ear, teeth and heels."
"Yes. Quite. But you have forgotten something."
"O. Don't spit bone or other substances caught in the teeth back on to the plate."
"Well that's certainly not done but it is not in fact a canon of this school."
"Pure thoughts and deeds sir."
"Good."
"Sir I feel sick. And am about to disgorge."
"Get out of here this instant then and come back."
"Thank you sir."
Beefy quickly exiting out the door. Slouch grunting. Headmaster taking his pince nez from his nose and pursing his lips.
"Well now fifty seven, your little princeling friend seems suddenly to have got a weak stomach. From what we hear of him it's certainly not his normal condition. I think we are all a little excited and bewildered. With this rather disquieting situation. I don't like much of what I've been hearing. But it would appear that you are being led by a boy much advanced in chicanery. The fact that he is to be sent down and you are to stay should be of no encouragement, let me assure you of that. Have you anything to say."
"Sir he is my friend. And I do not care to listen to what you might say about him."
"Noble of you, I'm sure. Cheeky too. We of course would not expect you to rat on your friend. But we want straight answers. Have you engaged with number sixty four or others in activities which might involve your being in the same bed with another."
The door suddenly opening. Beefy reappearing.
"Don't answer that Balthazar."
"How dare you come in like that without knocking. Stand right there and be quiet. I repeat to you fifty seven, have you engaged with sixty four or others in activities in the same bed."
"I refuse to answer, sir."
"Do you realize I may have you sent down for refusing to answer."
"Yes sir."
"Well are you going to answer then."
"No sir."
"Very well. We'll take up that matter later. Sixty four. I have here your diary. Is that correct."
"Yes sir."
"What is the meaning then of these smutty homosexual poems."
"What poems sir."
"Do you wish me to read them."
"Yes sir."
"I would eschew such a tricky little pose as you are at- tempting here sixty four. Don't try it on with me. Have you engaged in smutty behaviour."
"I have sir. I frolic at request with the big boys sir."
"It's clear then that what Mr. Slouch says is true, you are completely without conscience."
"I have always enjoyed sexual activities sir, my tutor said one must always uphold freedom of the flesh."
"That's quite enough out of you. Needless to say your guardian has been written to. And your trustees. And your removal from this school at the earliest has been requested.
Do you understand what I'm saying."
"I do sir."
"However, Mr. Crunch here has pleaded upon your behalf and not without my listening with some sympathy. Also that matters in your past were not everything to be desired. And it is upon his pleading that I do not mark your record. You will go from this school able to make a clean start at another. We are aware of your considerable talents it would seem. That's perhaps the greatest pity. One allows for your exceptional abilities but that does not give you licence to attempt to make fools of us. Or that this school is run for the amusement and benefit of one or two boys. And now we come to the matter of the ownership of this diary. I am not satisfied that the opinion given on either side in argument concerning this is the correct one. But for the time being I personally feel the diary is best kept with us."